


Things We Shouldn't Do

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Boys In Love, Drinking, Falling In Love, Fantasy Fulfillment, Forced Proximity, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, Light Angst, Light Suggestions of Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Romance, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Stakeout, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:18:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Harry and Draco are on stakeout for no discernible reason other than the universe clearly wants to fuck with Draco’s head.





	Things We Shouldn't Do

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve missed writing these two and thought I would pick up an old WIP and have fun with them. No plot, just any excuse to get Harry and Draco in a house together for a fortnight where they can ~~argue, have sex and fall in love~~ get up to all manner of things.

**Three days in hiding**

Potter’s restlessness and permanently pissed-off expression suggests that, like Draco, he hasn’t had a wank in days. 

“ _Relax_ , Potter.” Draco’s on his second brandy and if Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration didn’t preclude him from using magic to create any more, he would be tempted to swig it straight from the bottle. As it is, he nurses a small splash in the base of the only cut-glass tumbler he could find and watches Harry pace. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

“I’m so fucking bored, more like.” Harry finally sits, slouching in the sofa. He sends a couple of listless sparks into the air from the tip of his wand. Draco has half a mind to point out there’s something rather Freudian about the whole thing, but he doesn’t. 

“Any word from Shacklebolt?”

“Not so much as a Niffler’s whisker,” Harry replies, gloomily. “It’s like we’ve been trapped here for months.”

Draco glares at Potter for his lack of manners. “It’s been three days.” 

“Long enough.” Harry sighs again, as if spending time in close proximity with Draco is comparable to a Friday afternoon class with Binns. Draco would have thought he would be used to it by now. He spends enough time bothering Draco at the Ministry. Harry stretches out on the sofa, tracing his wand in the air. The motion makes jagged shapes which flicker then break apart with a light _pop_. The line of the spells takes on the shape of an all too familiar animal. A ferret, to be precise. Potter snickers under his breath. 

“I hate you,” Draco informs him. “You're a pillock.”

“Takes one to know one.” Harry glances at Draco. “I might as well have a shower. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Draco smirks. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Harry’s cheeks redden. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Draco waves an airy hand. “Oh, just go and toss off, Potter. Anything to stop you from barging around the place like a Hippogriff with fleas.”

“That’s not—” Harry splutters and sets his jaw, as if wanking is on the list of things that are above heroic do-gooders. Along with drinking brandy ( _we’re on duty, Malfoy_ ), smoking ( _you’re getting ash on my trainers_ ) and gossiping about Ministry colleagues ( _that's confidential information_ ). 

Draco rolls his eyes. “Gryffindors don’t do that, I suppose. It must be frightfully boring being you. I expect it’s all repression and self-flagellation whenever you get a hard-on.”

“Fuck off.” Harry glares at Draco. “I’m not doing this with you.”

Draco studies his fingernails, feigning boredom. “I don’t think you’re doing it with anyone at the minute. No wonder you’re so jumpy. All that pent-up energy.”

“That’s not because I don’t _wank_ , you unbelievable arse. I do that all the time.” Harry’s lips clamp shut, as he immediately realises the error of his ways.

“Of course you do.” Draco smiles serenely. “Being the tosser you are.”

“I’m going to _shower_ ,” Harry insists, between gritted teeth. He strides off and the sound of running water fills the musty flat. 

Draco closes his eyes, allowing himself a minute to indulge the bit of his brain that—unhelpfully—thinks of Potter as attractive. He’s just the slightest bit shorter than Draco, wiry and athletic and full of boundless enthusiasm. His hair is a thick, untidy shock of black which refuses to be tamed. A bit like Harry himself. Full of energy, constantly active and buzzing with the comforting thrum of magical prowess that he channels into the most ridiculous things when he’s not busy fighting the good fight. It's only got worse now they're spending more time together at the Ministry, with Weasley on paternity leave and Draco working as Harry's partner. Even though it can't have been much more than a month, it's been quite enough time for Draco to start to develop inconvenient _feelings_. Draco refuses to think too closely about the kind of dark haired, casually dressed boys he goes for when he’s looking for a bit of fun. More than once he’s let himself be taken in front of a mirror, or come down a stranger’s throat as a Muggle with guileless green eyes watches him. Draco, unfortunately, has something of a type. 

The image of Harry having an angry wank which finishes with Draco’s name on his lips is far more tantilising than it should be. By the time Harry emerges from the bathroom, damp, inviting and infinitely more relaxed, Draco is in need of a good ‘shower’ himself. 

**Four days in hiding**

The morning is particularly sluggish. The sun hasn’t managed to break through the clouds and there's a low fog that refuses to lift. Despite the autumnal weather, the air has the mugginess of summer, and it makes Draco's temples ache. Even a cool shower wasn’t enough to clear the cobwebs from Draco’s mind and he decides caffeine is the only answer. Being confined in a small cottage with Potter is making Draco stupid.

“Next time Shacklebolt sends us on a wild goose chase, remind me to bring proper coffee making facilities.” Draco reaches around Harry to grab the jar—instant, because Ministry hideouts are appallingly ill-equipped. 

“Do you have to complain about everything?” Harry’s voice has a peculiar gruffness to it and his hands tighten on the kitchen counter. 

It’s so subtle Draco almost doesn’t notice it, but his post-war years and Auror training have taught him to be on high alert. The quiet threat in footsteps on pavements that stop and start with his own. The cloying grasp of magical energy in abandoned houses with brutal history steeped in the brickwork. The glossy veneer of a beguiling smile as a precursor to unspeakable cruelty. Draco is used to noticing the things other people might miss before it’s too late. It’s a necessary part of staying alive. 

After seven years at Hogwarts, working closely together at the Ministry and four days holed up in the middle of fuck knows where, Draco’s become finely tuned to Harry’s physicality. The endless pacing back and forth, the storminess behind his eyes, the way his magic crackles and spits like the logs in the wood-burning stove that leaves the house hot and claustrophobic. Harry’s body is warm, his skin soapy fresh. He’s either fastidious to a fault about personal hygiene, or he’s taking every possible opportunity to release some of the tension building between them. That’s what Draco notices first. Soap and fresh laundry. It seems apt that Potter should smell clean, while Draco’s clothes hold the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and notes of the kind of cologne only people with money to burn would choose to purchase. Next, he notices the curled fingers, the whitening of knuckles. Harry’s breathing alters, hitches, becomes less smooth. 

In his haste to move out of Draco’s way, Harry knocks a mug from the kitchen surface. It falls to the floor before either of them can reach for their wands. Broken china mingles with dark coffee granules, which Harry begins to clear away without once meeting Draco’s eyes.

Draco sips his coffee and pretends he hasn’t noticed anything unusual at all.

**Five days in hiding**

It’s impossible to sleep. Draco should have listened to Harry’s note of caution when he made coffee after supper. _You’ll be awake all night. We’ve got work to do tomorrow_. Draco hates being told what to do. He drank three cups largely out of spite, and now he’s regretting his pettiness. He can’t even get up and smoke or wander around the house, because it would prove Potter right. Draco can already picture the triumphant look in Harry’s eyes— _I warned you about too much coffee before bedtime, Malfoy—_ and he refuses to give Harry that satisfaction.

A small spider winds its way across the ceiling and Draco shudders, casting a spell to send it off to another part of the house. The attic room is stuffy and covered in cobwebs, with things that rustle and creak in the darkness. When they arrived and poked around the place Harry expressed a preference for the main bedroom, mumbling something about his childhood and confined spaces. Draco didn’t have the heart to argue with him. Give Potter his windows and the clean morning sunrise. Draco is used to the shadows, these days.

His mind fills with thoughts of Harry as he tries to sleep. The clenched hand and the roughness of Harry’s breath. The odd, wild look in his eyes. Draco knows men. He knows what men look like when they’re fucking, when they’re being fucked. He knows what men look like when they _want_ to fuck. Perhaps Harry Potter isn’t so complicated after all. 

With a sigh, Draco runs his hand over the front of his pants. He’s restless and unable to sleep, his mind replaying yesterday’s moment in the kitchen and giving it a very different ending. He loves a slow, lazy wank and there’s been precious little time for any of that with Harry’s propensity for staying up late. He insists they take shifts watching a house where nothing is happening, and Draco often hears him clattering around downstairs or creaking up and down the stairs to use the bathroom. 

For once, the house is quiet. Hopefully Harry’s taking a nap, and Draco can enjoy a blissful moment undisturbed. Biting back a groan, he squeezes his hand around himself, before pushing his boxers down. He should have brought lube. He can’t risk casting a spell with Potter on high alert. The last thing he needs is Harry barging to check if there's evil afoot just as he’s getting to the good part. Draco can’t bear a ruined orgasm. He likes to be fucked, hard and often. He has precious little interest in any kind of play that doesn’t allow him to get off, more than once if his partner has any sort of staying power. He supposes he’s always been a selfish being.

With a low _hngh_ , Draco strokes himself to hardness. He fondles his balls and traces his fingers over his thighs, up, down, tugging lightly. He imagines Harry’s mouth, Harry’s fingers tracing the same lines. Eventually, he decides to get on with it. He takes himself in his fist and swipes his thumb over the leaking tip of his cock, sighing with pleasure. His dick twitches to the thought of Harry checking on Draco and offering a helping hand. He closes his eyes and allows himself to dream. One more private moment thinking about Potter fucking him into next Sunday shouldn’t do any harm. It's becoming something of a habit. Draco’s breath catches in his throat and he strokes himself more quickly. Firm, solid. No messing around. He chases his orgasm with steady pulls of his hand, wishing he had toys, spells, _Harry_.

He comes with Harry’s name stuttering from his lips, his fist and belly damp and sticky and his free hand tangled in the sheets.

As he blinks his eyes open, he swears he can hear a rustling outside the bedroom door.

He closes his eyes again. Wishful thinking, perhaps.

**Six days in hiding**

There’s an awkwardness that comes with the morning after the night before. Harry is particularly jumpy and restless all day, and it makes Draco wonder if he really did imagine that there was someone outside his door the previous night. Because it’s not as though he can ask _did you hear me wanking over you last night_ , he declines to say anything at all. 

By the evening, Draco is as jittery and on-edge as Harry. There’s only so many times he can read the same book in the interests of research before his brain explodes from boredom. Not to mention Harry has become so distracting that Draco can hardly remember why they’re on stakeout in the first place. Lately something as stupid as Potter making tea is enough to make him half hard. When Harry starts pacing around the small living room like a caged Crup, Draco decides he’s had quite enough.

“Stop that, for fucks sake.”

“Stop what?” Harry turns, blinking at Draco.

“Pacing. It's annoying.”

“I’m thinking.” Harry rubs his hand over his jaw, narrowing his eyes at Draco. “I do that, sometimes. When I’m _working_.” He says the word pointedly, as if Draco’s just lounging around drinking brandy, which he pretty much is.

“Working on what?” Draco gestures to the stack of open books crowding the coffee table. “Our research is going around in circles, we haven’t heard a whisper from Shacklebolt in days and the house we’re supposed to be watching looks like it’s been empty for months. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’ve been sent on a fool’s errand.”

“We’re here because of the—”

“—I _know_ , Potter.” Draco rolls his eyes. “I’ve read the same papers you have, but I’ve seen crematoriums with more life in them than Chatsworth’s house. I don’t understand why you won’t just send a Patronus to Shacklebolt to tell him we’re going home.”

“Kingsley was quite clear. We need to stay for a fortnight, and we’re not to contact him unless we need back-up.” Harry folds his arms stubbornly. “I’m just following orders.”

“Naturally.” Draco flicks his wand to Summon his book. “You’re no fun.” 

“It’s work, it’s not supposed to be _fun_.”

“It must be so dull, being you. At least we only have one more week in this hellhole and then I can enjoy my holiday without you barging into my office every minute or dragging me off to moldy houses for a fortnight.”

“I don’t drag you anywhere.” Harry speaks through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing. “I swear to Merlin if Ron doesn’t get back from paternity leave soon, I’m going to be forced to ask Kingsley for a new partner.”

“Quelle horreur.” Draco puts his hand to his chest, feigning a look of horror. “How would I cope without my daily dose of your oafish guidance and moronic observations?”

“Sod off.” Harry nudges his glasses higher on his nose and stares broodily out of the dark window. As usual, there’s absolutely nothing happening. “You’re not the only one who’s ready for a holiday,” he mutters. There’s a faint note of judgment in his tone, as if Malfoy’s don’t deserve holidays. 

“I’m sure your plans are thrilling.” Draco flicks through his book, not really focusing on the text. He’s already read it about seven times since they arrived, in the hope learning about the appropriate form of dung for fertilising Mandrakes might put a swift end to his Potter-induced erections. “Probably a trip to Shacklebolt's office to learn about the history of the Ministry, so you can annoy people with more rules and regulations.”

“You've got me all wrong.” Harry glares at Draco. “I’ve never been one for rules, which you’d realise if you knew me at all.”

“Maybe not in the past, but you were a teenager then. Now you work for the Ministry, not against it.” Draco gives Harry a scathing look up and down, trying not to linger on the pleasing bulge around his crotch area that makes Draco’s mouth water. “As an adult it's all about putting blind faith in the system and collecting your pay every month for services to the country. You're a stickler for rules. I certainly don’t see you flouting Ministry authority. In fact, I've rarely met someone quite so eager to enforce it.”

Harry stares at Draco. “You do know you're also employed by the Ministry? You have exactly the same job I do.”

“Yes, but I'm not the one claiming to be such a maverick.”

“You're trying to leave a job early so you can get a head start on your holiday.”

“A flippant comment. Who doesn't want to get on holiday as quickly as they can? I work hard. I have to, given my past. You're the one on first name terms with the Minister, he'd probably give you a medal for putting Hob-Nobs in the Auror pantry. In any event, you know I'm right about this job being a total dud. I don't think anyone has lived in that house we're meant to be watching for at least a year. I've been watching you, and you hardly bother looking at it at all now. We'd feel it. The magic.”

“We still have to follow instructions so people can't suggest we're taking liberties.” Harry's jaw works, as if he's debating whether to say something more. In the end, he speaks tightly. “I helped changed things at the Ministry, worked hard to make the system fairer. You don’t know anything about what I did before you arrived, or what I still do, when you’re not working with me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco stares at Harry. “When _I’m_ not working with you?”

“It means you’re fucking lucky to have this job, you smug arse. I’m not trying to keep out of trouble—I’m trying to keep _you_ out of trouble. You know what Robards is like, he’s just waiting for any excuse to start an official process that will get you booted off the MLE floor and into accounts faster than you can say 'Goodbye Ministry of Magic.' I’d say flouting Shacklebolt’s orders and swanning off on holiday early would do it.”

“Don’t do me any favours, Potter.” Draco slams his book closed with a snarl. “You’re so fucking insufferable. I suppose you’re planning to report back on every little misdemeanour, is that it? Making notes of every cigarette break or glass of brandy, trying to—”

“— _No_ , you infuriating idiot.” Harry’s face is etched with anger. “I’m not reporting anything, drink as many glasses of brandy as you want. I’m just saying watch your back. Not because of me, because of the others.”

“Watch my back.” Draco laughs without humour, taking a gulp of his brandy. He hopes Harry doesn’t notice the way his hand trembles when he tops up the glass. It stings to be reminded of the reasons he and Harry will never be equals, professional or otherwise. “I’m a former Death Eater, a Malfoy and a _queer_. I’ve had plenty of experience watching my back since the war, although I appreciate the advice all the same.”

Harry’s lips press into a tight line as contemplates Draco. Eventually, he sits heavily in a nearby armchair and flicks his wand to Summon the brandy. He pours himself a generous glass and knocks it back in one. 

“Do what you like,” he mutters. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Bully for you. I’m going for a cigarette.”

Draco stands and leaves the room without a backward glance.

**Seven days in hiding**

Draco stubs out his cigarette with the heel of his boot, casting a disdainful look at Harry when he steps onto the small patio area outside the house. After their argument last night he’s been trying to avoid Harry all day, which is difficult in the small, cosy cottage. He took books to his room and only made himself food when he was sure Harry wouldn’t be in the kitchen. Instead of eating supper with Harry, he poured himself a large glass of red wine and came outside to chain smoke. It’s not exactly sitting outside the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc on the Côte d'Azur with a chilled glass of rosé on a warm summer’s day. The tiny garden space is unbearably basic, with its cracked concrete tiles, broken terracotta pots and a few particularly tenacious weeds. 

“I suppose you’re going to tell me we shouldn’t be outside in case anybody hears us.” Draco turns away from Harry to focus on a slug making its way onto one of the last remaining leaves on the patio. Potter doesn’t look like he’s come to start another argument, which Draco supposes is something.

“It doesn't matter. I don’t think there’s anyone around,” Harry replies, gruffly. Talk about stating the obvious. Nobody has so much as walked past the house in days. “Can I have one?” 

“If you must.” Draco holds the packet of cigarettes out to Harry, watching him light one with a flick of his wand. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t, usually.” Harry gives Draco a wry smile. “You’ve driven me to nicotine.”

“Naturally, it would be my fault.” Draco rolls his eyes. “I suppose Saint Potter doesn’t have any vices all of his own?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Harry's eyes are dark, his face carefully neutral. “I have one or two. I might surprise you yet.”

“I highly doubt that.” Draco pushes aside the thrill that travels down his spine at the thought of being surprised by Harry. “I’ve been pretending I’m on the French Riviera.”

“Is it working?” Harry sounds amused.

“No.” Draco sighs and leans back against the wall, looking at the sky, cloudy with a light scattering of stars. “More’s the pity.”

“Is that where you’re going on holiday?” Harry seems eager to make small talk, most likely to ease the tension still lingering from the previous evening. Because Draco doesn’t have anything better to do and he’s missed Harry annoying him all day, he decides to indulge the question.

“Not this time, although I expect I’ll go later in the year. I’m going to America, with hundreds of men in tiny swimming trunks.” Draco raises an eyebrow at Harry. “I hope that doesn’t offend your delicate sensibilities.”

“Delicate sensibilities my arse.” Harry exhales, watching the smoke twist and curl in the breeze. “Stop trying to wind me up.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?” Draco tries to keep his expression blank. He _loves_ winding Harry up. It’s immensely enjoyable, and far better than hearing about how many of his colleagues want him fired. “Besides, you asked where I was going on holiday. I answered.”

“You’re not going on holiday with a load of naked men.” Harry rolls his eyes. “You wish.”

“I am, actually.” Draco glares at Harry. “It might surprise you to learn I’m quite popular on the Muggle gay scene. I have friends all over the world and the beach parties in America are really something. Besides, I didn’t say _naked_.” He waves his hand. “Really more scantily clad.”

“Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously.” Draco puts his hands in his pockets and leans back against the wall, watching the clouds. “You?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” A strange expression crosses Harry’s face as he looks away.

“I’m sure you’ll work something out. My holiday plans can’t be that surprising to you, of all people. I read the papers.”

“You probably know they’re full of shit, in that case.” Harry studies the cigarette between his fingers, before flicking the butt onto the floor and Vanishing it with a flick of his wand.

“Ah. Not gay, then?”

“That bit was true.” Harry leans on the wall next to Draco. He smells better than ever, fresh and clean, with his jeans hugging his legs and arse in all the right places. Draco tries not to stare, the nudge of Harry’s arm against his own leaving his heart racing. It would be so easy just to slide to his knees, to pull Harry close to his mouth, to—

“Malfoy?” Harry blinks at Draco, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “Everything alright?”

“Fine.” Draco shakes his thoughts away and focuses on the topic at hand. “What bits are the papers getting so wrong, if they’re right about the _homosexual_ part?”

Harry snorts at Draco’s emphasis on the word homosexual. It’s the _Prophet_ ’s favoured term. The most revered media publications in the wizarding world thrive on sensationalism and barely concealed judgment. Everybody with half a brain knows that. 

“Everything else,” Harry says. “I’ve never fucked Oliver Wood or George Weasley and Ginny certainly isn’t pining over me.”

“Who are you fucking, then?” Draco can’t resist asking, but he also isn’t sure he wants to know.

“Theo Nott about a year ago. Since then, no one.” Harry pushes himself off the wall and gives Draco a half smile. “Not yet, anyway. Night, Malfoy.”

Draco watches Harry leave, his mind full of questions and his body tingling at the promise behind _not yet_.

**Eight days in hiding**

“I can’t believe you fucked Theodore.” Draco has been working himself into a tizzy about Harry’s revelation all day, and that evening he can't resist making a pointed remark. “You do know he's one of _my_ friends?”

“I didn’t realise you were that close.” Harry’s brow furrows. “He’s not your ex or anything, is he?”

“No, he’s not my ex.” Draco doesn’t particularly feel like mentioning he had something of a thing for Theo, before realising they were far better suited as friends. “He’s a _Slytherin_.”

“And?” Harry takes a small sip of his brandy, a smile playing around his lips. “Why wouldn’t I want to fuck a Slytherin?”

The casual reply sends a thrill through Draco which leaves him momentarily speechless. The air in the room thickens and Harry’s gaze takes on an intensity that catches Draco off guard. _Fuck_. Harry looking hungry-eyed and interested was not the response Draco anticipated. He supposes that's what you get when you try to flirt with a Gryffindor. A complete lack of subtlety.

“I wouldn’t have expected it,” Draco says, when he recovers the capacity for speech.

“I don’t know what you did expect.” Harry laughs under his breath. “Probably thought I was getting off with Robards, because I’m in love with the Ministry.”

“Please.” Draco shudders. “Even you have better taste than that. Good taste, if Theodore Nott is anything to go by. Intelligent, handsome, witty, turned his political allegiances around—”

“Hmm.” Harry makes a non-committal sound. “I’m not sure he was really my type.”

“Too many unsavoury former associations I expect.” Draco tries not to sound bitter, even though he is. He doesn’t want Harry to think of him as lesser, even if he deserves it. He was knocked to his lowest point after the war and he’s clawed, fought and worked with tenacious focus to better himself. The thought that no amount of repentance will ever be enough for someone like Potter leaves an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

“Not at all.” Harry’s expression turns firm and serious. “I know very well that people are capable of change. I have a lot of respect for those that make the effort.” He winks at Draco, easing the tension. “I just prefer blonds, that’s all.”

A warm rush of pleasure travels through Draco’s body, and he arches an eyebrow at Harry. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Potter?”

“Would you mind if I was?” Harry holds Draco’s gaze, his tone warm.

“I would worry that the illegal potions Chatsworth’s supposedly brewing are going to your head,” Draco answers. _There’s nothing to stop either of you_ , he thinks. _There’s no one around_. The already warm sitting room gets even hotter and Draco runs his finger underneath his collar, loosening a button and clearing his throat. “Don’t you ever date—or whatever it is you do—Muggles?”

“Not really.” Harry shrugs. “I can’t say I’m having many beach parties and orgies, that’s for sure.”

“Neither am I.” Draco smirks. “At least not until next week.” 

“Lucky you.” Harry laughs under his breath. “I’m not really into the scene.”

“What are you into?” Draco asks at last, an electric pulse of desire running through his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever been as attracted to anyone as he is to Harry, in this moment. A strange longing gnaws at him, a magnetism humming in the air that makes Draco desperate to close the distance between them. 

“This and that,” Harry murmurs. Draco doesn’t miss the way Harry's sitting. He's taking up room as usual, legs apart as if he's leaving just the right amount of space for Draco to get on his knees between them.

“How pedestrian.” Draco manages to keep his voice level despite the fact he’s completely unsettled, the tug of arousal now deeper, more pronounced. He runs his tongue over his lips. “I might have known you’d be the sort to enjoy getting pretty boys on their knees. I suppose you think I should be sucking your heroic cock as a debt of gratitude for trying to help me keep my job?”

Harry laughs, his face breaking into a broad grin. His voice has a sinful timber, rich and smooth like syrup. “That, and the fact I saved your arse a few times, Malfoy.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to bugger it, _Potter_.” Despite the tumult of emotions twisting inside him, Draco’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“I never said it did.” Harry rubs his jaw, giving Draco a lopsided smile. “Although I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it.”

The conversation doesn’t seem quite so funny anymore, the humour sucked from the room, leaving behind the simmering tension that’s been gathering force over the duration of their stakeout. _Christ_. Draco’s prick is taking an interest and Potter is still several feet away. He dreads to think how his body might respond if they found themselves in closer proximity.

As much as Draco wants Harry, he can’t help but feel that giving into his desires would be like losing a protracted game of chess. Draco has never enjoyed being vulnerable and he knows with absolute certainty that fucking Harry Potter would leave him raw and exposed in ways Draco isn’t sure his heart is built to handle. He’s spent so long putting up walls. The idea that one reckless tumble with Harry could bring them all crashing down is unthinkable.

“Just because I fuck strangers, it doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck you,” Draco says at last, a cold note creeping into his words. Cold is distant. Cold is good. Cold says _I absolutely do not care about you_.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the sort to take anything that isn’t enthusiastically offered.” Harry rolls his eyes, but there’s something beneath his words that Draco can’t quite decipher. Disappointment, perhaps.

“I won’t get on my knees. I won't _submit_. In any sense. With you.” Draco’s lip curls, a precise cruelty and deep untruth to his statement, but once the words are out there Draco can't chase them back.

 _Not enough_ , his brain tells him. _You’ll never be enough for him._ Perhaps his stupid brain is right. It turns out Draco can still resort to hollow lies and schoolboy taunts when it comes to Harry, even now. Despite their fledgling friendship and position as professional colleagues, it's always been easier to pretend to hate Harry than to capitulate to the truth of his burgeoning feelings. Cruelty is safe. Everything else is unthinkable.

Clearly stung, Harry sits back in his seat with a dull thud. “Right. Well, that’s clear enough.”

“I don’t—”

“—Trust me,” Harry says, quietly. “You don’t trust me.”

No, that isn't right either. _You already make me feel so small_ Draco thinks, and he presses his lips together to avoid blurting out his true feelings. Fantasies are one thing. The reality of sinking to his knees for Potter—of submitting to Potter—leaves Draco completely unravelled. He knows that’s not how it works, that there’s nothing inherently submissive about one position over another, it’s all just mechanics. But Draco has very particular likes and he can't imagine combining those with the tumult of emotions Harry causes. There’s a long, loaded history that stretches out between them. On the one hand Draco wants Harry with a deep longing he never experiences when he has sex with his handsome strangers. On the other, he can’t imagine how sex with Harry would work unless Draco could continue to reinforce his upper hand.

“I won’t do that with you,” Draco repeats, to convince himself as much as anything. He can't bring himself to say anything more revealing.

Harry sips his brandy, thinking. “Is that what you like with other people?”

“Almost exclusively.” Draco’s mouth is dry, his chest tight. He’s not used to talking about this. He _never_ talks about this. He just gets on with it. Less talking, more fucking. He loathes it when people call him a bottom, even though he knows where that particular hang-up comes from. He hates that it still has the power to make his insides twist with shame. He refuses to dwell on it and indulges in the acts that bring him the most pleasure, brushing away any further labels. Calling himself gay for the first time was hard enough.

“I see.” Harry frowns, then stands. “Okay then.”

Draco stares as Harry moves towards him. For one breathless minute he half thinks Harry is going to sink to his knees in front of him, but he doesn’t. Instead he places a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder and squeezes lightly. He leans in, his breath hot against Draco’s ear.

“I do things the other way too, if that’s what you want. You might not trust me, but I trust you, Malfoy. Barmy as it sounds.” 

Draco can’t move. His body floods with heat and his cock thickens just from the tickle of Harry’s breath against his neck, the firm squeeze of his hand and the low cadence of his voice. Every inch of his body seems finely attuned to Harry’s magic, the steadiness of his voice, his crisp, clean scent and the way he can liquify Draco’s insides by murmuring a filthy offer in his ear. 

“Well.” Harry pulls back and clears his throat. “You know where to find me, I suppose. No hard feelings, either way. We’re supposed to be working, after all.”

“Mm.” Draco isn’t sure he trusts himself to speak, with Harry standing beside him and looking down at Draco with a strange, fond sort of look in his eyes. “Yes. That’s very—yes.”

“I just wanted you to know.” Harry turns to leave, before Draco finally gets his voice back.

“Wait,” he manages to croak out, his voice raspy. There’s something about Harry saying _I trust you_ that makes Draco want to cry. “Is this you trying to stop me from getting fired?”

“No, dickhead.” Harry laughs and the strange mood eases just enough for Draco to regain something of his composure. “Maybe I’m remembering how it feels to break the rules.”

“Oh.” Draco stands, facing Harry. He only means to put them back on an even footing but once he’s there, he can’t resist sliding his fingers along the firm line of Harry’s jaw, keeping his head steady so Draco can drink in the sight of him. “And how does it feel?”

“ _Good_ ,” Harry breathes. His breath is boozy, warm and sweet. “So good.”

“You trust me.” Draco drops his hand and clenches it into a fist by his side, his voice tight. Being tender with Harry is infinitely harder than fighting with him. “Why?”

“Because.” Harry shrugs. “I’ve seen how you’ve changed. How you try. I like you, Malfoy.” He winks, and gives Draco a broad, open smile. “You keep things interesting.”

Harry leaves the room and Draco stares after him.

**Nine days in hiding**

_I trust you, Malfoy. Barmy as it sounds…You keep things interesting_.

Harry’s words have been playing on Draco’s mind for the last twenty-four hours. Remarkably, the conversation from the previous night didn’t create any stilted awkwardness. The day has flown past in a rush of renewed energy. It was almost like being back at the Ministry, working closely together, bantering back and forth and enjoying easy conversation. There’s still absolutely fuck all happening across the road, but it didn’t seem to matter. They worked together on other cases, talked easily about Ministry politics and Harry showed off one of his new duelling spells. They both went to bed earlier than usual, and Draco wonders if Harry doesn’t want to push things by spending another charged evening flirting with the dangerous topic of sex. 

Despite the unexpectedly pleasant day, Draco is anything but relaxed now the night has drawn in. He misses the burn of brandy in his throat and learning more about Harry as the muggy summer air gathers around them. He misses the not-quite flirting that has left him warm and hopeful at the end of every evening. The night feels emptier in the absence of their usual routine and Draco has gone from being desperate to leave this hovel, to wanting time to slow down so they can stay in this bubble together long enough to work out what the fuck they’re doing. It’s impossible to sleep, thanks to Harry. Draco huffs and tries to punch his pillow into a more comfortable shape, but he knows that he could be sleeping on clouds and it wouldn’t help. 

Draco buries his face in his pillow and grunts out an _nnngh_ of frustration. Fucking _Potter_. Draco hasn’t been able to erase the thought of Harry sitting with his legs spread, giving Draco the eye. No matter how hard he tries he can’t shake the image of Harry’s lightly tanned arms, the athletic lines of his legs in comfortable blue jeans, the firm set of his jaw or the way his body flexes and stretches when he’s moving around the house. It’s even worse than the Auror robes and leather Quidditch boots that make Draco want to slam the door to Harry’s office closed and ask _Auror Potter_ for a thorough investigation. It seems unfair in the extreme that Harry gets to be sexy as sin, with all the other things he has going for him. It’s probably all part of the sport some unknown higher power is playing with Draco as penance for his former terrible choices. 

His instinct to deny Harry, and himself, caught Draco by surprise. One thing Draco has learned is that sex is the one aspect of his sorry life he needs to make no apologies for, whatever his upbringing might have taught him. It took a long time to reach that stage. The previous evening's resurfacing of old anxieties buried deep in his core gnaws unpleasantly at him. They come from the same place as other prejudices and it makes Draco question how much he's really changed. He's fought with tenacity to better himself and to unlearn the countless, poisonous lessons he took to heart as a young boy. Harry seems to bring the old Draco kicking and screaming to the surface. In one short conversation with Potter, Draco became young again, scared, desperate to please his father. Perhaps that shouldn't surprise Draco so much. Harry's always known the heart of him, in a way his Muggle friends never have. He still has the ability to make Draco feel seen, in all the worst ways.

Despite that, Draco hasn’t wanted anything this badly for a very long time. If anything the fact having sex with Harry is such high-stakes makes flirting with the notion all the more arousing. The problem is, Draco knows himself well enough to be fully aware of the signs when attraction goes beyond the physical into altogether more dangerous territory. Weasley’s been on paternity leave for well over a month and Draco’s had to spend every day with Harry at the Ministry. They might not have been trapped together twenty-four-seven as they are now, but it’s been almost as bad. In the morning, Harry’s first stop is Draco’s office, bearing two coffees and an impossibly charming smile. In the evening they work late together into the night, heads bowed over books.

For all Draco’s complaining, Harry has taken him completely by surprise. He’s not just atrocious hair and casual good looks. He’s also kind, generous, brave and powerful. He might not be a muscular gym bunny but he’s lithe and athletic, capable of casting spells with a determined focus that comes from years of training. Watching Harry in practice duels is better than porn, and Draco should know. He’s seen enough of it. Another pull of arousal leaves Draco groaning into his pillow again and he shifts on the sheets to get friction against his cock. He can only imagine this is what being on heat must feel like. Unrelenting. Painful. Damned inconvenient. 

He rolls over and blinks at the ceiling, thinking about Harry’s offer. He wouldn’t mind taking him up on it. At this point, Draco would probably happily fuck Weasley, if he was offering. He knows in his heart of hearts though, that’s not what he wants. He wants to do the things he enjoys the most, with Harry. He’s just not sure his heart is strong enough to withstand the emptiness that’s bound to follow afterwards. A deep-seated need for Harry slides through Draco’s veins, whispers of _what if, what if_ running around his head. He replays their conversation over and over, and in his fantasy versions, Draco doesn't refuse to do anything with Harry. In those versions he settles between Harry's knees, making him smile, making him laugh, making him forget any encounter with Theodore Nott and all the other men in Harry's past. _Watch me_ , fantasy Draco says, uninhibited and unashamed. _Want me._

This time, Draco doesn’t give a fuck if Harry recognises his spells. _Part of you hopes he will_ his brain niggles, but Draco dismisses it. He casts a lubricating charm to make his hand slick, just how he likes it. If he was on his own, he would take his time, use some toys and really enjoy the moment. As it is, he just wants to reach a quick, easy completion. He doesn’t bother messing around, wrapping his fingers around his cock and stroking himself quickly to a climax that shudders through his body.

He Vanishes the evidence of his activities and pulls the duvet up to his chin, closing his eyes and determined to get at least a couple of hours sleep. 

It’s not enough, but it will do. For now.

**Ten days in hiding**

It becomes apparent, after a night of terrible sleep and another day of easy conversation, that wanking is unlikely to solve Draco’s Potter-shaped problem. Even being in the same room as Harry is playing havoc with the parts of Draco’s body that respond to Harry with all the eagerness of a horny Hungarian Horntail. With a huff of aggravation, he flings off the duvet and marches down the narrow stairs, pushing open the door to Harry’s room.

Harry, of course, appears to be enjoying a luxurious, entirely untroubled sleep. Draco wants to hex him in the bollocks.

“What’s wrong?” Harry rubs his eyes and pushes on his glasses, holding his wand aloft with a swiftly cast _Lumos_. “Is it Chatsworth?”

“No, it’s bloody well not.” Draco flicks his wand to ignite the oil lamp in the room and shuts the bedroom door with a slam. “It’s you.”

“Me?” Harry yawns and pulls himself up into a seating position. He’s not wearing a t-shirt and Draco is struck momentarily speechless by the possibility that Harry sleeps naked. “What have I done?”

“What haven’t you done? I thought you should know I’m going to report you to Shacklebolt for ethical misconduct.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, slowly. He frowns, more alert than before. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’ve been meaning to ask you out for ages, I just thought—”

“—You’re the most insufferable person I have ever met in my life.” Draco cuts Harry off, apoplectic. “Telling someone they can fuck you isn’t dinner and drinks, you twat.”

“Well, perhaps not.” Harry has the decency to look sheepish. “Is that a no to a pint at the Leaky, then?” 

Draco can hardly find the words he’s so incensed. “You’ve just been sleeping?”

“Yeah, the bed’s great.” Harry lets out a sigh of contentment. “Dead comfy, really warm too. How's the attic?”

“I hate you.” Draco moves towards Harry, holding out his hand. “Glasses.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry slides off his glasses and hands them to Draco without a word. He looks amused, the cheeky shit.

“Not a word, Potter,” Draco growls. He Vanishes the duvet with a hurried spell. Harry at least has the decency to wear boxers to bed, which is both a disappointment and a relief. Draco dumps his wand on the bedside table, straddling Harry who responds with a surprised _umph_. “Not a word,” he repeats, sternly.

“Not saying a thing.” Harry’s breath hitches he grips onto Draco’s hips, holding him steady. 

“Stop—fucking—talking.” 

Harry is clearly incapable of taking instruction, so making sure his mouth is otherwise occupied seems to be the best way to shut him up. What starts as fierce and angry turns into something wetter, more desperate and utterly delicious as it becomes quickly apparent that Harry Potter can kiss. Far from shying away from Draco’s advances, Harry hauls him close, groaning into Draco’s mouth. His hands are warm, firm and sure on Draco’s skin, his mouth still carrying the faint taste of peppermint toothpaste. Draco pushes his hands into Harry’s hair and deepens the kiss, luxuriating in the slide of their tongues, the taste of Harry’s lips, the eager confidence that suggests perhaps he really _has_ been thinking about this, just like Draco.

Harry moves his hand down Draco’s back, fisting one in his hair and keeping their lips fused together with a contented sigh. His hand slides lower, moving over Draco’s arse before sliding back up again to settle on the base of Draco’s spine. It’s as if he doesn’t want to venture onto hallowed ground without being given permission, despite the fact Draco barged into Harry’s room and made what he wants abundantly clear. At least he thought he did.

“I may have been somewhat hasty the other night.” Draco’s voice is rough when he finally pulls back from Harry’s tantalising mouth. It’s difficult to remain dignified when his dick is rock hard, and Harry’s gaze is warm and fiery. 

“Oh?” Harry slides his hand lower again and squeezes Draco’s arse, his lips curving into a smile. His cheeks are flushed and his lips damp from kissing. He looks good enough to eat. “I don’t mind if you want something different, you know. I’m up for all sorts. Whatever you fancy.”

“ _Whatever_ I fancy?” Draco ponders that delicious offer for a moment. 

“Within reason,” Harry replies. He clears his throat. “I’m not into pissing or anything like that.”

Draco stares at Harry. “Good. If you were, I would at least expect a nice dinner first.”

Harry laughs and nods his head. “Understood. Somewhere fancy, I bet. Knowing you.”

“I’ll choose somewhere suitable.” Draco frowns at Harry. “That’s your only limit?”

“There are others. I’m not sure we need to worry about them for now.”

“Because we won’t be doing this again?” Draco glares at Harry, his chest getting tight when Harry shakes his head with a patience Draco probably doesn’t deserve.

“Because I like to work up to whips and bondage,” Harry replies.

“God.” An involuntarily shiver passes through Draco at the thought of getting kinky with Harry. He swallows thickly. “Another time,” he says, hopefully. 

“If you like.” Harry grins. “Do you have any limits I should know about for now?”

“Don’t make me feel—” the word _small_ catches in Draco’s throat. He’s not sure how to articulate that fear, and he can’t help but feel it would be a sure-fire way to dampen his current enthusiasm. “Unequal,” he finishes. He hopes that suffices. 

“Okay.” Harry still looks thoughtful, a slight frown crossing his features. “You’re not, for the record. Although I don’t suppose telling you that helps.”

“Not particularly.” Draco presses his lips together, unwilling to expand further. He just wants to _feel_. They can talk afterwards, assuming Potter isn’t the sort to start snoring three seconds after an orgasm, which he probably is.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to do for ages.” After a considered pause Harry speaks again, his voice low and firm. 

“I don’t _care_ Potter, just get on with it,” Draco grouses. His erection isn’t quite as perky as it was before, and he doesn’t want to start any awkward conversations when he’s half naked. 

“Fine.” Harry shifts Draco off his lap and waits for him to stretch out on his back, before reaching for his wand. With a muttered spell he Vanishes the last of their clothes and discards his wand in an untidy fashion, next to Draco’s. 

Without saying another word, Harry settles between Draco’s legs. With a low groan, Draco pushes his hand into Harry’s messy shock of hair and closes his eyes. He half expects Harry to be tender, worrying about Draco’s mindset. He braces himself for fluttering kisses to his thighs or sweet nothings that Draco doesn’t particularly want to hear. When Harry actually gets to work the force of his desire is the first thing that registers in Draco’s brain. It turns out few people suck cock with the enthusiasm of Harry Potter. It’s so good it makes Draco’s head spin, his whole body burning with weeks of pent-up need that Harry pulls from him with ease. Harry’s fingers press into the flesh of Draco’s buttocks, his mouth slick and sure as he swallows Draco down. _Impressive,_ Draco would say, if he could form actual words. There’s no messing around. No tease, no slow, steady checking if Draco’s enjoying himself. Harry treats the quest for Draco’s orgasm with all the efficiency and energy he uses when he’s at his most official. For all his complaints about Harry’s work ethic, Draco has never been so turned on in his life.

With a hiss of pleasure, Draco bucks into Harry’s throat. He arches his back, his whole body thrumming with desire. He tightens his grip on Harry’s hair and twists, which seems to spur Harry on instead of slowing him down. There’s no imbalance between them, no concern that Harry is going to remind Draco of the bitter past he’s been trying so hard to move on from. Confronted with Harry's unbridled enthusiasm, Draco's qualms about showing his own fade away. Being inside Harry’s mouth—being naked in bed with him—is as easy and natural as breathing. Draco's climax builds and he tugs at Harry’s hair, to no avail. Harry just slides his slick lips up, down and pulls Draco’s orgasm from him with dizzying speed. It sears through him with unstoppable force, sharp, powerful and eminently satisfying. 

It occurs to Draco as Harry shifts up the bed next to him that first, Harry hasn’t come, and second, he didn’t go anywhere near Draco’s arse. He tilts his head to the side, his voice a slow drawl. “Do you want to fuck?”

“I thought we just did.” Harry presses a kiss to Draco’s neck, his cock nudging against Draco’s thigh. He trails kisses along Draco’s jaw then back to his neck again, his voice muffled. “I can wait.”

“Really?” Draco slides his hand down Harry’s chest, enjoying the flex of his body under Draco’s fingertips. “How unlike you, Potter. You’re usually in such a rush to do everything.”

Harry laughs. “Not this.” His cheeks are flushed. “I like how waiting feels.” He swipes his tongue over his lips and murmurs _yeah_ under his breath as Draco slides his hand lower. “I like to, err, give.”

“How fortunate.” Draco smirks and brushes his lips to Harry’s, murmuring against them as he wraps his fingers loosely around Harry’s cock. He’s _hung_ , hard and the thick length of him makes Draco’s mouth water even though he’s just come. “I like to take. Perhaps we’re a good fit after all?”

“I’d say so.” Harry’s voice is ragged, and he reaches for Draco, pulling him closer. He slides his hands down Draco’s back and pulls their bodies together, kissing him soundly before breaking away. “Do you go to those parties of yours because you like to be fucked over and over? I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s been driving me mad.”

“I’m glad to hear it’s not just me,” Draco murmurs. His inhibitions slip away, replaced with curious excitement about Potter’s kinky fantasies. He couldn’t be more delighted to discover that his boy hero has a very filthy mind. “What’s been on your mind?”

“Do you think one person could do the job?” Harry’s cheeks flush and he pointedly doesn't look at Draco, his gaze falling to the corner of Draco's mouth. “Hypothetically.”

Draco’s heart jumps as Harry’s question knocks the breath from his lungs. 

“ _Hypothetically_ that depends on the person,” he replies, when he finds his voice again. He sighs dramatically. “I might have known you would ruin my holiday plans.”

“Not ruin.” Harry sounds amused. “Just…offering alternatives.”

“I see.” Draco turns to face Harry properly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Perhaps I won’t enjoy being fucked by this hypothetical person.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?”

“Yes.” Draco rolls over onto his front, his prick already taking a lazy interest. “I think it might be,” he mumbles into the pillow.

Because Harry has a sinful mouth, it should come as little surprise that he also has a very talented tongue. He hauls Draco up, until his backside’s high in the air and thoroughly exposed to Harry’s gaze. Draco’s insecurities slip away as Harry holds his arse cheeks apart and puts his tongue to work. Draco doesn’t think he’s ever been rimmed quite so thoroughly, his whole body shaking from the exertion of keeping himself in place as Harry’s tongue takes him apart. He lets out a muffled groan into the pillow, hands twisting in the sheets as Harry slides his tongue inside Draco and fucks him with it, his fingers digging hard into Draco’s backside. The rough eagerness of Harry’s approach hits all the right spots. In the abstract, Draco expected the force of his need would give Harry the upper hand, but in reality it couldn’t be clearer to Draco that Harry wants this too. The query about _one person_ makes Draco's heart clench, hope worming through him. _This isn't just for tonight._ He pushes back into Harry’s mouth, biting back his pleas for more, harder, deeper. He’s so thoroughly relaxed and simultaneously desperate to be fucked, by the time Harry moves away, Draco's earlier worries have been dissipated entirely and his cock is hard once more. Draco watches Harry rummage in the drawer, retrieving a bottle of lubricant which he opens with a distinctive _click_

“I knew you were having an unhealthy amount of showers,” Draco says. “Did Shacklebolt suggest we bring lube on stakeout to give us a competitive edge? I must have missed that in the official pamphlets.”

“Hilarious, Malfoy.” Harry snorts with laughter, before stopping Draco’s teasing in its tracks with a slide of one slick finger into Draco’s body. “Your arse is—”

“—Quite something, I know.” Draco clenches the cheeks of his backside as Harry pushes two fingers deep inside his body.

Harry is as determined and skillful with his clever fingers as he is with his mouth and tongue. He seems to know instinctively how Draco likes things, biting down on the fleshy part of his arse, tonguing down Draco’s spine and fucking into him with precise, targeted jerks of his hand. Draco pushes back onto Harry’s hand, grunts and moans falling uninhibited from his lips. 

“You’re bloody gorgeous.” Harry doesn’t say much, but what he does say goes straight to Draco’s cock. The, low, filthy cadence of Harry’s sex voice is as intoxicating as the confident way he brings Draco’s arousal to dizzying heights.

Instead of feeling vulnerable in Harry’s hands, Draco is surprised to feel just the opposite. There’s something reassuring about hearing Harry. Something so _satisfying_ about hearing that familiar voice, rich with desire and pleasure. There’s safety in it. An acceptance of a divisive past and the warm promise of more to come. 

“Fuck me, will you?” Draco presses back against Harry’s hand—now three fingers deep. “Before I come again.”

Harry is nothing if not agreeable, sliding his fingers from Draco’s body, before adding more cool lube. The familiar _slap_ of slick hand against cock sends a shiver of anticipation down Draco’s spine. One day he’s going to have to ask Harry to wank for him. Assuming that isn’t off limits. 

“I thought you liked that?” Harry murmurs. The head of his cock nudges against Draco, as Harry works to position them both.

“Like wha—oh _fuck_.” Draco curls his hands into fists as Harry enters him with one firm thrust. It leaves him filled in the best of ways, the stretch of Harry’s cock instantly gratifying.

“I thought you liked coming.” Harry emphasises his point with another hard thrust, gripping Draco’s hip with one hand and sliding a slick hand over his cock with the other. He shuffles behind Draco, getting into position so he can fuck him from a different angle and—

“Oh my fucking— _nngh_. The pleasure is almost dizzying, the steady force of Harry’s movements making Draco’s voice stutter when he tries to speak. “Of course— _ahh_ —I like coming you imbecile.”

“Not just once though,” Harry says with a low growl. “Again, and again.” 

Draco would dearly love to respond to that with something cutting but all words leave him as Harry seems to decide the time for talking is over. The room is hot, and their bodies slap together, their skin slick with sweat. When Draco licks his dry lips, he can taste the saltiness of his perspiration, his whole body warm and probably flushed pink, his hair sticking to his forehead as he tries to swipe it from his eyes. Harry has staying power, and if there’s one thing Draco appreciates it’s someone who can give him a long, hard session that he can feel the next day. The difference with Harry is he’ll still be around tomorrow, unlike most of the others. That opens entirely new avenues of exploration. It doesn’t take long for those happy thoughts to bring Draco to a bone-shaking climax that pulls Harry’s name pulled from his lips in a final grunt of pleasure. 

“You’re so _fucking_ —” Harry finally seems as on edge as Draco, if his voice is anything to go by. 

Draco rolls onto his back and pulls himself up into a seating position, leaning back against the headboard. He’s delighted to find his fantasy of watching Harry wank is about to become a reality. He studies Harry through narrowed eyes, hoping the sweat, untamed hair and flushed cheeks don’t detract from the look. Draco knows he looks good. He’s finally starting to appreciate that he looks good to Harry too, as surprising as that is. He gives Harry what he hopes is a very rakish smile.

“You can come on my face if you like, Potter.” 

“Oh— _ah_.” Harry groans, before moving to straddle Draco’s legs. He holds himself up on his knees, his free hand beside Draco’s head. It only takes a couple more tugs before Harry comes on his fingers, striping Draco’s chest and belly. After a breathless minute Harry lowers himself gently into Draco’s lap, before kissing him soundly. 

“We’re disgusting,” Draco says, when they finally break apart.

“There’s magic for that.” Harry gives Draco a lopsided smile, a daft, happy look on his face. “Dishevelled looks good on you.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Draco tries to fight the heat that rises in his cheeks at the compliment, and the pleased smile that tugs at his lips. It’s a futile undertaking. Potter has fucked all the cool pretence out of him. 

“Or we could shower.” Harry moves off Draco, running his fingers through the sticky mess on Draco’s chest. “If you give me half an hour.”

“You’re insatiable.” Draco says it as a criticism, but he secretly couldn’t be happier about it.

One long chat and a very satisfying shower later, Harry is snoring peacefully by Draco’s side. It’s nearly sunrise and Draco’s body aches all over in the best possible way. It’s been a long time since he’s felt so sated, so content and so thoroughly shagged out. He watches Harry sleep, his heart kicking in his chest. 

After enjoying the sight for a while longer, Draco stretches and goes to have a cigarette so he can take in the rising sun.

The clouds burn pink and red at the edges, the air is fresh and cool and for the first time in a very long while, Draco allows himself to hope.

**Eleven days in hiding**

Draco’s outside drinking his first cup of coffee when Harry joins him. 

“Only a couple of days left.” Harry leans against the wall, next to Draco. He looks comfortable and relaxed in loose tracksuit bottoms and a hooded jumper. His hair is damp, and he smells fresh from the shower. Draco supposes it must be force of habit for Harry to shower when he wakes up, to get the day started. He worried that seeing him in the cold light of day might change things, but the pull of arousal in his stomach tells him otherwise. If sex was supposed to scratch an itch, it hasn’t worked. Draco is as head over heels and turned on by Harry's proximity as he’s ever been. More so, now he knows the glorious ways Harry can make him feel.

“Only a couple of days, then we’re on holiday,” Draco replies. He glances at Harry. “Have you made any firm plans yet?”

“Not exactly.” Harry meets Draco’s gaze. “The Harpies are playing in Wales. I hear Cardiff’s nice.”

Draco pulls a face. “I’m not going to watch your ex-girlfriend play Quidditch on my week off.”

Harry’s lips tilt into a smile. “You’re coming, are you?”

“Frequently, I hope.” Draco puts his cup on a rickety garden table and faces Harry, putting the flat of his palm on the wall next to Harry’s head. “You owe me several missed orgy opportunities.”

“You’re not going to America, then?” Harry’s voice is ragged, and his gaze lingers on Draco’s lips. “I don’t mind beach parties.”

“Maybe I’d prefer to have you all to myself,” Draco replies. His honesty surprises him. There’s something about the fresh light of the morning that makes it difficult to continue the pretence that he couldn’t care less what Potter does with his time. He cares. Very much. The niggling jealousy at the idea of Harry being ogled by other men tells him that. “Do you have thoughts on the French Riviera?”

“Not really.” Harry hooks his fingers in Draco’s belt loops and thumbs under Draco’s shirt, stroking his stomach. “Is it any good?”

“Exquisite food, excellent booze, sunshine, sand and turquoise water as far as the eye can see. Yes, it’s good.” 

“I could take you for dinner, if you want.” Harry grins at Draco. “I did promise to take you out.”

“You promised me a drink at the Leaky. Dinner was a precursor to watersports, if I remember correctly.” Draco pulls a face. “Besides, if we’re going to the French Riviera, I expect I’ll be the one buying dinner.” 

“Whatever you want.” Harry leans in and gives Draco a slow kiss. “Remind me to send my report to Kingsley before we go. Not that I’ve written it yet.”

“I can’t imagine it’s going to say much.”

“I’d say a paragraph should do it.” 

“You need to make that complaint of yours too,” Harry says, just casually enough that Draco knows it's been bothering him.

“I think my complaints can wait,” Draco replies. “I'd hate to get you fired when it turns out you have additional skills I hadn't considered in my prior evaluation. Besides, you'll need a salary to treat me to my favourite bottle of Provençal rosé when we're on holiday.”

Harry's jaw works, his brow furrowed. “I just don't want you to think I'm—”

“—I don't. Not for one minute. You're far too noble to let something like this influence my job, for better or for worse.” Draco licks his lips and lowers his voice. “Although I'm quite happy to indulge in roleplay to that end, if you wish. I think it would be good for you to break the rules, _Auror Potter_. Do those things you know we shouldn't do.”

“God, Malfoy.” Harry groans and tightens his hold on Draco, before lifting his hand to stroke his thumb over Draco's cheek. He moves it over Draco's lips, and Draco flicks his tongue over it in a way that makes Harry's gaze turn fiery and fierce, sending a hot pulse of need through Draco's veins. Harry's eyes linger on Draco's lips, his voice low. “There’s still plenty of time to kill.”

“Well, if reports and the Owl to Shacklebolt can wait…”

“I’d say so.”

“Excellent.” Draco murmurs a cushioning charm and sinks to his knees, looking up at Harry. “There’s one thing I still haven’t done that I’ve been thinking about all morning.”

“I thought you said it was _pedestrian_.” Harry’s breath hitches as he looks at Draco.

“I said getting pretty boys on their knees for you was pedestrian. I’m a little more than that.”

“You are.” Harry touches his fingers to Draco’s jaw.

“I thought this would make me feel small,” Draco says at last. He unties the string on Harry’s joggers and nudges them down.

“Does it?” 

“No.” Draco gives Harry one last quick smile. “It makes me feel horny.”

Draco proceeds to demonstrate exactly how horny being on his knees makes him, enthusiastically showing Potter that he’s not the only one who knows how to suck someone off.

Not that it’s a competition, of course.

**Somewhere Expensive, South of France. No longer in hiding**

“Owl from Kingsley.” Harry waves a piece of parchment bearing the official Ministry stamp in Draco’s general direction.

“Keep your voice down, Potter.” Draco slides his sunglasses onto his head and pats the sun lounger next to him. “Muggles are listening.”

“You won’t believe this.” Harry sits on the side of the sun lounger, facing Draco. He’s blocking the afternoon sun, but he’s also wearing quite indecent swimming trunks so Draco can’t say he minds. He’s much more pleasing to the eye than any of the well-oiled strangers Draco was planning to enjoy. Particularly now Draco knows just how well Harry can use his cock. Draco’s becoming an insufferable romantic, after all this time in Harry’s company.

“Try me.” Draco slides his sunglasses back onto his face and tips his head back into the sun, letting out a contented sigh. “I do hope I’m not being fired for sucking your cock.”

“Nope, nothing like that.” Harry laughs. “I didn’t include that bit in my report.”

“Pity. I’d love to see Robards head explode.” 

“Turns out Chatsworth moved yonks ago.”

“Surprise, surprise.” Draco snorts under his breath. “I told you we were on a fool’s errand.”

“He’s somewhere in Cornwall.” Harry helpfully begins to apply suntan lotion to Draco’s chest which is very distracting, to say the least. “I wouldn’t want you to burn,” he says, his voice low in Draco’s ear.

“How thoughtful.” Draco bites back a groan as Harry’s thumb swipes over his nipple. “That’s a mean trick, Potter.”

“I’m just checking you’re fully covered,” Harry replies. He’s not convincing anyone. Draco’s learned Harry can be quite sneaky when he wants to be. His hands continue to work over Draco’s torso, dipping below his swimming trunks before mercifully moving up. “Apparently Kingsley thinks we should go to Cornwall.”

“He does?” Draco takes off his sunglasses and rolls over onto his front before any unsuspecting waiter catches sight of his Potter-induced semi. “What about Weasley?”

“Shacklebolt seems to think it’s up to us to see the Chatsworth case through.” Harry frowns at the letter. “Apparently the Slytherins are having at hard time at Hogwarts. He thinks us working together might help.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him you’re really putting your back into interhouse relations.” Draco looks Harry up and down. “You’re certainly going the extra mile. Perhaps he’ll give you a Christmas bonus.”

“Naff off.” Harry grins, pushing a hand through his unruly hair. “Fancy it?”

“Living in a Ministry hovel for another fortnight? Not particularly.” Draco’s chest gets tight at Harry’s crestfallen expression. “I suspect there will be some upsides, however.”

“Oh?” Harry’s glum expression clears. “It’s going to be strictly business, Malfoy,” he says, voice low and full of delicious promise.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Draco smiles and stands, giving Harry a proper eyeful. He snaps his towel at Harry. “I hear the room I paid for has its own pool. Tempted?”

“Always.” Harry stands and falls into step with Draco, resting his hand on the small of Draco’s back and leaning in to murmur in his ear. “I still owe you a drink.”

“You do, don’t you?” Draco lets out a long-suffering sigh and presses the button to call for the lift. “I suppose you can make it up to me in other ways.”

The lift opens and Harry ushers Draco inside, pressing him against the lift wall and kissing him thoroughly.

“How’s that for starters?” Harry asks, when they’re both breathless.

“It’s certainly going to make Cornwall more tolerable.” It wouldn’t do to let Harry know that Draco’s already looking forward to their next stakeout.

“We might have to work this time.” Harry—Ministry golden boy and Auror extraordinaire—looks quite put out by the prospect.

“We were working last time. You still tossed off in the shower every day.”

“It helps keep me focused.” Harry grins at Draco and follows him down the corridor into their room.

“I’m sure it does.” Draco closes the door and pushes Harry back against it, pressing their bodies together. “Let’s work on your focus, _Auror Potter_. I've been doing all _sorts_ of things I shouldn't.”

Because Harry Potter is a kinky bastard, his response is exactly as Draco hoped. It turns out Harry has a few surprises up his sleeve after all.

 _You keep things interesting, Potter._ Draco thinks later that night, as he watches Harry sleep. _You keep things interesting_.

_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm [@writcraft](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/) on tumblr come and say hi. Rebloggable tumblr post [here](https://writcraft.tumblr.com/post/186237303863/things-we-shouldnt-do-harry-potterdraco-malfoy) if you enjoyed the fic.


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